


Quand Il Pleut, Il Verse

by littleangels



Series: When You’re Gone [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, i like to suffer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 14:32:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6332863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleangels/pseuds/littleangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Quand il pleut, il verse.” When it rains, it pours. Right now, Marinette was in the middle of a storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quand Il Pleut, Il Verse

**Author's Note:**

> hello yes hi i like to suffer so you guys should suffer with me 2.0 because guess who’s back with another fic

_Heartbeat_.

It was a noun. It was a single pulsation of the heart and alternatively an animating or vital unifying force. It was something essential to living.

(Yes, Marinette looked the definition up in the dictionary for dramatic effect.)

 _Heartbeat_.

It was the calm lilt she could listen to at the end of the day. It was the gentle, drumming beat that would lull her to sleep at night. Sometimes, Marinette would find that it was the only thing she looked forward to during a hard work week when commissions began to pile up on her desk.

(Yes, Marinette listened to that same heartbeat every single day. She was consistent like that.)

 _Heartbeat_.

It was always Adrien’s. It was always at the end of a long day from Uni that she would come home and just lay her head on his chest. It was always those little precious moments that came with a feeling of warmth and homeliness. It was always those precious little moments that were easily taken for granted.

And the worst part? It was routine. It was a habit. It became such a normal, everyday, go-to part of her life that Marinette hadn’t even dreamed of the possibility of losing that moment. The thought had never _ever_ crossed her mind in the years that she and Adrien had been together.

In the end, the calm lilt of his heartbeat ebbed away.

* * *

 

A memory surfaced then, painfully clear and vivid in her mind. It was the first time she had begun that little habit.

Marinette remembered coming home from a _very_ exhausting day at _Ecole de la Chambre Syndicale_. It was tough, what with her school of choice being a world-renowned establishment, so on that particular day she collapsed on top of her boyfriend and closed her eyes.

‘ _Well, “hey” to you too, Princess_ ,’ Adrien had said, laughing softly as he ran a hand through Marinette’s hair. ‘ _Tough day?_ ’

She had replied with a groan. ‘ _You have no idea_ ,’ she grumbled, nestling her face in his chest. ‘ _I’m_ exhausted. _I don’t wanna go to school tomorrow_.’

Adrien had laughed, loud and full, before pulling her into a hug. ‘ _Come here_ ,’ he was saying. ‘ _Tell you what, Mari. If you’re ever stressed like this again, just do this, okay? I’m here for you_.’

Marinette remembered smiling and pressing her ear closer to hear his heartbeat. ‘ _Yeah_ ,’ she mumbled. ‘ _I think I’ll take you up on that offer_.’

‘ _You better_ ,’ Adrien replied. She remembered hearing the smile in his voice as he tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘ _I’m here for you, Mari. Always._ ’

And how ironic, Marinette thought now, that the little moment they shared—the way their hope of an _always_ easily became the naivety of forever, the impossibility of happily ever after that was all so, _so_ close—disappeared in a flash.

Gone.

At first, Marinette didn’t register what had happened. She saw him fall, saw him hit the ground, and everything after felt like a blur. She saw a haze of sanguine through blotchy, tearful eyes. She remembered screaming. She remembered crying so loudly and miserably. She remembered feeling a deep pang of _pain_ and _guilt_ and _anguish_ punch her in the stomach. Even after crying at the scene and crying at the hospital, nothing ever _fully_ registered. It all happened too quickly; her mind didn’t put together the pieces just yet.

Adrien was gone.

 _Of course_ , she thought, tasting bitterness in her mouth. _Of course he would be the first of us to go. Of course he would._ Of course _._

After all, Adrien was always putting her above himself. It didn’t matter what the task was— Be it an akuma attack, a late night coffee run, or a forgotten lunch, Adrien was there in a flash, saving her all over again. It was now, of all times, that Marinette was painfully aware that he would come to her rescue in a heartbeat.

A pained sob escaped Marinette’s mouth as she curled herself up on the bed that they once shared, angry, shaking fists tightening around the sheets as she pulled them closer to herself.

“ _Gone_ ,” she choked out. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she folded her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “He’s not _here_ anymore. He… Adrien is really…” An ugly cry escaped her throat, and Marinette continued to sob.

Tikki was hovering close by. The little red kwami looked grief-stricken, and Marinette could only imagine what she must have been feeling.

Of course Tikki loved Adrien. How could she not? Adrien had a heart of gold, and Tikki saw that in him. The two of them got along like the best of friends, bonding over their love of all things sweet—cookies especially—and preventing Marinette from doing anything rash—which she did tend to do more often than not. Tikki loved Adrien and the way he brought sunshine into Marinette’s life. She loved how he tried his best to keep such a positive outlook in life despite all the hardships he’s been through as a child. She loved how he genuinely cared and genuinely sought to see the good in people all because a boy like him wanted to be a little less lonely.

And Tikki was happy when he found Marinette. She was happy when Marinette found him. She was happy for their friendship and happy for the love for each other. She was _happy_ , and she loved Adrien dearly.

But that was gone. _Adrien_ was gone.

“If only,” she whispered, her fist tightening around the sheets. “If only I had _been there_ right away. I could have _helped_ him, Tikki. What good am I if I… if I let him… Tikki, this is my fault! It-It’s my fault that Adrien.” She choked back a sob. “… th-that A-Adrien’s really _gone_ —”

“Don’t say that, Marinette,” Tikki said softly. Her heart clearly wasn’t into her reprimand. “You… You did all you can. It-It wasn’t anything you could help, Marinette.”

“I could have!” Marinette nearly yells, kicking off the blankets in aggravation. “I had everything right in front of me! I-I could have prevented something! I-I-I c-could have—!” She stopped herself as another sob lodged itself in the back of her throat.

Marinette quickly hid her head in her hands. Tears were burning down her face and snot trailed down the sides of her mouth. Her eyes were blazing as she screamed out in anger aimed at herself, aimed at her inability to help when it counted most.

She was _Ladybug_ , for crying out loud. She was a hero of Paris and a symbol of hope for its inhabitants.

Where was all that now? Where was the confidence of Ladybug? Where was the heroism? Where was her hope?

Marinette felt like a fraud. How dare she call herself a hero of Paris when she can’t even save herself from the vicious, self-deprecating thoughts that ate her up inside? How dare she stand as a symbol of hope for the people when she’s lost all hope herself?

Marinette felt like a fraud. The one person who saved her from herself time and time again was _dead_. The one person who gave her hope and constantly encouraged her was _dead_.

“Adrien’s _dead_ ,” Marinette exhaled at last. That sentence was a breath she had been holding for far too long. She removed her hands from her face and gazed at the wall of her room with a resolute but lifeless realization in her eyes. “He’s _dead_ , Tikki. H-He… He’s not going to be here anymore.”

“He’s dead,” Tikki agreed. She left it that.

Even Tikki, Marinette observed, couldn’t bring herself to say anything more about Adrien’s death. Tikki—who was so positive, so sweet, so optimistic—couldn’t manage to find a single thing to console Marinette, let alone console herself.

So Marinette let the silence between the two of them drift for endless hours. The two of them remained in complete and utter silence, not daring to make a sound other than a sniffle or two.

That gave Marinette all the time in the world to collect all her emotions into one giant ball of self-blame, loneliness, sadness, despair, and anguish. In her mind, she took that giant ball and tried her best to put it in the very back of her brain.

It was well into the wee hours of the morning when Marinette took a deep breath. She swiped away any errant tears and tried to collect herself.

 _I can’t be sad forever_ , she reminded herself, taking in another deep breath. _Adrien wouldn’t want me to be sad, would he?_

She imagined his smiling face, bright and loving. She remembered the last time she saw him smile so brightly and clung to that memory as tightly as she could.

Marinette recalled coming to a coffee shop earlier that week. She remembered sitting by the window, enjoying an espresso in the middle of a busy Parisian afternoon and feeling so… at peace. It was certainly a rare moment in their life.

She peeked at Adrien as she took a sip of her coffee, and she remembered the way he stared at her. His emerald eyes were glowing with so much love and adoration for _her_. Marinette thought that her heart would explode.

‘ _Hey, Mari?_ ’ he asked, reaching out across the table to hold her hand. ‘ _Can I tell you something?_ ’

She remembered smiling at him, echoing the same earnest expression he wore so openly on his face. ‘ _Of course_ ,’ she said as she gave his hand a squeeze. ‘ _What is it?_ ’

‘ _I love you_.’

He had said it with so much warmth and affection that Marinette was surprised she hadn’t melted into a puddle right then and there. She had heard of people wearing their heart on their sleeve, but he wore his love for her so brazenly on his face. She could see how much he really loved her in the way he held her hand, the way his eyes glowed with so much affection whenever he caught her gaze, and in every little smile and laugh that they shared.

And having that one person to share every little bit of happiness with? _Oh_. To Marinette, that feeling was _simply the best_.

She remembered leaning over the table to kiss him on the forehead, on the cheek, on the nose, on the lips.

‘ _Thank you_ ,’ she remembered saying as she pulled away. ‘ _I love you, too_.’

And he smiled at her then, bright and radiant. Adrien’s smile was permanently etched in her brain, a remainder of their little piece of happiness, of forever.

She clenched her fist and held her hand to her chest, holding onto the memory of him as tightly as she could. She didn’t want to let go just yet.

“Hey, Tikki?” she spoke at last. “How do you do it?”

The little red kwami hovered over to where Marinette sat on the bed. She rested on her shoulder and took a deep breath. “How do I do what?”

“How do you… get over someone’s death?” Marinette swallowed. “I-I mean… There must have been Ladybugs before me, right? Just like there were Cat Noirs before A-Adrien.” She shuffled in her bed, changing her position to lie down. “What do you do? How do you hurt less?”

Tikki remained quiet for a while. “You don’t,” she said simply. “To be honest, Marinette… It never gets easier with all the years. I remember every Ladybug, and they all hold a special place in my heart.” She heard Tikki’s voice crack. “It still hurts sometimes, but I remember all the years I’ve spent with them and all the fun we had together. It hurts a little less when I remember how happy we both were. It helps ease the pain, too.”

Marinette felt Tikki leave her position on her shoulder in favor for hugging her cheek. “It’s the same thing with Adrien,” the little red kwami continued. “It will be… hard for the first few months—maybe years—but knowing Adrien, he would want us to be happy. He would want _you_ to be happy, Marinette.”

There was a ghost of a smile on her face. “Right,” she said softly. “Happy.”

“It doesn’t have to happen right away,” Tikki added. “You’re in the middle of a storm right now, Marinette; of course it will be hard. But give it time— _Après la pluie, le beau temps_.”

 _There’s always sunshine after the rain_.

Tikki hovered in front of Marinette’s face and managed a small smile. “Come on, Marinette,” she said. “Let’s go to sleep. It’s been a long day.”

“Right,” Marinette replied absentmindedly. “Sleep. Let’s go to sleep. Goodnight, Tikki.”

“Goodnight, Marinette,” the kwami replied. “Sweet dreams.”

* * *

 

_The Heart_.

It was a noun. It was the organ in the chest that pumped blood through the veins and arteries. It was thought of as the place where emotions are felt.

(Either way, having a heart was essential to living. That much was obvious to Marinette.)

 _The Heart_.

It was funny, really— It was in the title she had been given as Ladybug. _Lady Magic and Lady Luck_ , the people called her. _Lady of the heart_. Sometimes, Marinette would remember that and smile. It was an honor to be considered brave and courageous and a symbol of good luck to the city of Paris.

(Either way, she was glad she could be remembered in that way. Marinette couldn’t help but wonder how they would remember Cat Noir.)

 _The Heart_.

It was the core of simply being, an important organ that keeps someone going, living, breathing.

Marinette’s heart had felt a whirlwind of emotions over the past few months. She had gone from being perfectly content and happy to extremely distressed, anguished, sad, and lonely. Needless to say, it was a very hard transition for her, but she managed to get back on her feet.

Sure, she still thought about Adrien a lot. Sure, it still hurt to remember, but she was healing.

The painful pang in her chest slowly ebbed away.

 _And that was a good thing_ , Marinette reminded herself, rubbing a hand over her chest. _This is good, Marinette_.

Every single week after the funeral, she had gotten into the habit of visiting his grave just to chat and tell Adrien about her week, so he wouldn’t miss out on anything. It was hard, given that they were mostly one-sided conversations, but she had missed talking to him. She liked to think that he was listening, wherever he was.

And so after visiting her parents on a rainy Saturday morning, she decided to stop by his grave and tell him about the hard school week at _Ecole de la Chambre Syndicale_.

Marinette stood in front of his grave, umbrella in hand. There was a faint but melancholy smile on her face.

“Hey, Adrien,” she began. “I miss you.”

(She always started their conversations like that.)

“You know,” Marinette continued. “I just got back from a visit with my parents. They really miss you, too. I told them that I was gonna stop by today, and they wanted me to bring a bunch of goodies from the patisserie.” She laughed. “I would have, if it wasn’t raining. I figured the last thing you would want is soggy cookies just lying about.

“Rain,” she said with an amused smile. “It reminds me of the time I really fell head-over-heels for you. Do you remember?” Even if he couldn’t answer, Marinette hoped he would. “It was your first—or was it second? I think it was second—day of school. I didn’t have a very good impression of you because I thought you were the one that stuck the gum on my chair.

“It’s funny,” she added, “because I remembered being so _keen_ on ignoring you because you were one of Chloé’s friends, but…” She smiled. “You were so kind and honest, you know? How could I not fall for you?” Her smile grew wider, but her eyes began to water. Marinette blamed the rain. “And I’m glad I did,” she said. “I’m glad you were my first crush, my first kiss, my first of a lot of things, really.”

Marinette kissed her fingertips and pressed it onto the cool stone of Adrien’s grave. “I’m glad you were my first love,” she told him, a single tear making its way down her cheek. “I’m glad I fell in love with you, Adrien Agreste.”

She decided not to stay for too long. Marinette rubbed at her eyes—these were _raindrops_ not tears—and stood tall.

She pretended not to notice how the sky slowly brightened up after she left. There was a faint smile on her face as she remembered a phrase a little kwami once told her:

 _Après la pluie, le beau temps_. There’s always sunshine after the rain, right?

**Author's Note:**

> If you suffered, leave some kudos! If you didn't suffer, leave some kudos! If you liked it, leave some kudos! If you didn't like it, leave some kudos!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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